


The Myth of Sun and Flowers

by Jane_Dorocak



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Apollo!Dylan, Artist!Kieran, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kieran's taking on Lauren's title of being the blindest of them all for this fic, Kym Ladell - Freeform, Lauren Sinclair (mentioned) - Freeform, M/M, Oh yeah there's some angst... should have mentioned that, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, SIMP!Kieran, heavy-handed symbolism, mentions of Lauren's pENsiVe EyES, names changes for sake of... plot I guess, references and symbolism so heavy-handed even Atlas ain't lifting htis fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Dorocak/pseuds/Jane_Dorocak
Summary: Before there was a sword, there was a tightrope.Before there was a flower, there was sunrise.And before there was a monster, there was a boy in love. Or perhaps more than one boy in love.(In other words, a very loose take on Kieran's past and his relationship with the streets, the circus, Zephyr, and Dylan, inspired by the myth of Hyakinthos.)
Relationships: Dylan Rosenthal/Kieran White, Kieran White & Zephyr, Kieran White/Zephyr (one-sided)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 21





	1. Pink

**Author's Note:**

> TW:  
> THIS FIC CONTAINS MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL AND VERBAL CHILD ABUSE AND PHYSICAL VIOLENCE.  
> It's not too graphic (I think. I'm bad at evaluating these kinds of things), but it is there.  
> Read at your own discretion.
> 
> Also canon complaint only up til episode 54, and from then on all similiarities and/or differences are just random.   
> This also means no Rafael, sorry.  
> Also also, the first two chapters are Dylan free (sadly enough)

_ They believe themselves to be immortal. _

_ They are street orphans, scrapping for survival every day, battling hunger and cold and illnesses and the other beggars and kids, which are often stronger and more skilled than they are. _

_ And yet they believe... _

***

"Stop those thieves!" a cry comes from the end of the street as two boys sprung out of a small shop, an angry store clerk in their heels. 

"Bastards! Born for the rope!" the man yells and raises his fists in anger, but the boys just laugh back as they run. At one point, the older of the two boys even turns around sticking his tongue out at the man, before resuming in his escape. The man's prophecies are just empty air for them. They don’t care for the future that distant - they are children of the street after all and what matters to them is only today. And today their lungs are filled with cold winter air, their veins with adrenaline and they have bags full of food, and they have each other...

Today, they're invincible.

A cry of a police whistle breaks the happy illusion. The boys whirl around to see a cop running after them - an image that is enough to freeze the blood in their veins.

"Kier!?" the younger boy peeps out, grabbing Kieran by the sleeve. The older boy curses under his breath.

"Just hurry!" he orders Cor, all the while his eyes dart for an escape route. They cannot be caught. The threat of a rope might be a faraway future, but the hateful expression on the fat Sergeant's face as he promised Kieran the next time he was going to get caught it would be something else is only a few days old, still too fresh in his mind, too recent for them to risk this- 

_ There! _

Kieran yanks Cor into a side alley, and now they are rushing through the narrow streets of the Greychapel. The houses around them grow taller and closer to each other, much less clean or kept, streets become crooked and muddy often blocked by carts or bodies of sleeping drunks. The boys move quickly, zig-zagging from one narrow alley to another, but the sound of the whistle follows them still, echoing against the walls, the threat of law and punishment nearing at the boys. Then another whistle joins - this time from the opposite side. Kieran freezes for a second, then dives into the nearest alley, but he niscalculated, and when they turn the corner again, they have to stop, the wall in front of them too high to climb.

_ A dead end. _

"Hell!" Kieran curses. The mocking tone of the whistle grows louder. Closer.

"What now, Kieran?" Cor whines, but Kieran hushes him, still looking around. It's futile - walls are too high, the doors and windows around locked-

As on cue, a green door to their right opens, and a child pops out sleepily rubbing the one eye not covered with blue hair.

"Huh? What'ya, uaah, doing?" she asks yawning.

Kieran acts quickly. He grabs Cor, and the boys dive towards the door, just as the whistle nears the corner.

"Hey!" the girl cries from surprise, as the boys slip past her. "Nobody is allowed here!"

"Well, that's too bad," Kieran grins as he shuts the door behind him, and then throws a glance over the room.

They’re in the back of a shop by the looks of it - a workroom filled with tools and clocks and watches of all kinds. There are also two more doors at each end the room - one leading to stairs to the living area, the other presumably to the shop. And from behind that other door, the thudding sound of footsteps approaches.

"Kym is that you?" a man's voice calls out. The boys exchange glances and dash under the desk in the middle of the room.

"If they ask - you saw nobody," Cor warns the girl, right before pulling down the tablecloth.

The girl blinks in confusion and only rightens her grip of the plush sheep in her hand. Her cheeks are reddish and puffed and eyes small and glassy.

_ She must be sick,  _ crosses Kieran’s mind.

"Is that your name?" she asks.

Cor hesitates. Kieran's eyes dart to the door. The doorknob is turning.

"Yes. Yes! Misters Nobody and No one. And now hush," he snaps at the kid and pulls Cor deeper under the desk, pulling down the tablecloth to cover them. Both boys held their breath as the door open and a pair of shoes passes straight past the desk.

"Kym, who were you talking too?" the man's voice asks again.

"Uh... No one..." the girl quips. "Misters No one and Nobody!"

The man sighs and the boys could see as he kneels in front of the girl from under the tablecloth.

"Yes, sure thing. Let me check your forehead... Oh, dear, you're burning up again! Common, let's get you tucked up again,” the man says lifting the girl, and to the mild protests of, "but they are here...." he carries her to the stairs in the back of the room. 

Both boys listen as the man's shoes creak against the old steps and then vanish into the distance, and only once nothing but the ticking of the clock is heard again, they breathe out with relief and swiftly rush out of the shop through the unguarded front door.

"What was that?" Cor laughs out the moment they are out and away from the most imminent danger.

"Mister No one and Nobody? Did you get that from the old man's tales?!" he adds mockingly, though Kieran could hear the envious undertone in his voice.

Still, he elects to ignore it and instead turns to examine his loot.

It’s not bad. Not bad at all. Four apples, five whole potatoes, seven carrots... and this odd fruit he took basically on a whim. He picks it out of the bag to examine it more carefully against the light of the streetlamps. It’s about the size of an apple, but its skin is shiny and leathery, dyed in red so dark it somewhat reminds him of blood.

He shrugs at the fruit and puts it back, before smirking back at Cor.

"At least I didn't freeze like someone here. “

The other boy reddens with embarrassment.

"I did not freeze!"

"Ha! You did too!"

"As if you were better! You almost craped your pants in that back alley!"

"No, that was you!"

"No, you!"

"Wanna fight!?"

There's no need for more. The next moment, Cor throws a punch in Kieran's direction and then they are both rolling on the ground in a mess of arms and legs and cries, their bags forgotten by the wall in the favour of the fight.

"Chicken!"

"Pipsqueak!"

"Ouch! Take it back!"

"I won't!"

“Ha-ha!“

The angry shouts quickly turn into laughter, the fight deescalating into a harmless game and in the end, they both stop, unable to stop laughing and fall on their back red from the exhaustion.

When they finally calm down Kieran turns back to Cor and grins.

"I won."

Cor rolls his eyes.

"You did not."

Kieran raises his brow as he climbs up on his feet and brushes the snow off his trousers.

"Wanna go again?"

"Hah, you wish!" Cor chuckles, but he accepts Kieran's hand all the same and stands up, just as the bells start ringing announcing the seventh hour.

Cor flinches at the sound and flashes an anxious look to Kieran.

"Hell, we're going to be late! And we don't have anything for him!" he grabs his bag and starts rummaging through it.

"Kier, I promised to bring something today! I don’t have anything good enough! Crap!"

“Hey, calm down! “The other boy picks his bag as well and pulls out the strange red fruit.

"What about this?" he offers it to Cor. "I mean... That old man always likes weird foreign stuff, right?"

The other boy’s face lights up with relief.

"Oh, thanks Kier!" he grabs the fruit with both hands and whirls in his heel, dashing down the street.

"Let's hurry!” he turns for just a moment, to gesture at Kieran.

“Hanbury Street is still far away from here!"

***

_ Yes, despite everything they believed themselves immortal. _

_ A silly belief really, but perhaps it's their privilege to believe in such things, just as they are privileged to believe in dragons, knights and... well, fairy tales. They are children after all and this is what children believe in, right? _

***

As the street orphans, they were, neither Kieran nor his friends know how to read or write. They have no one to teach them that after all; no parent to pay for their education, no older sibling that would go over the symbols with them in their free time, no one to buy them books and sheets and ink to train with. And just the same no kind-hearted mother that would read them before bed, no crazy uncle to make up stories to scare them, no elderly grandparent who would sing them to sleep. What the children of the Greaychapel do have - as loose as the use of the term "have" is in this context - is the old beggar living on the corner of the Hanbury street.

The man is old - ancient even - missing half his teeth, half his mind and all of his sigh. But he knows stories, so many stories, and if you approach him with an offering - a coin, a piece of a pie, a piece of fruit, or a bit of vine still clinking at the bottom of the bottle – and he would find it suitable, he would sit up and brush of his old cloak, and then... then he would start narrating, his voice weaving a magical world like no other.

His stories are not like "traditional" fairy tales, once-upon-a-time-happily-ever-afters nannies would read to their children, or moralistic anecdotes teachers would tell their pupils. No, the beggar’s tales are older than that, as old as the man telling them, and dark and grim, filled with bloodshed and mistrust, self-proclaimed justice and hypocrisy. Only rarely do they have a happy ending to look forward to; there are no knights in shining armour, no faithful maidens waiting centuries for their prince to appear, no higher power rewarding the good and the just. The heroes of the old beggar's tales are more often than not cruel and selfish and prideful, the lovers rarely happy but instead mean and jealous and cheating left and right, and the gods pettier and more childish than the children themselves.

And yet, those tales fascinate kids even more than any other fairy tale would. Perhaps it is for the morbid curiosity. Perhaps it is because they see themselves in the heroes. Because what were those heroes at the beginning but abandoned children of kings, lost descendants of a stray god, for so long unaware of their fate, for so long thinking of themselves as of mere orphans?

And so, no matter how poor they may be, every week without fail, the children would gather around the old man and – were he to find their gift apprpriatte his efforts - they would sit down and listen, eyes wide and filled with wonder, even if they have heard that tale at least three times before. And the next day, when they have the time, they would try to replay those stories - pretend wars of Titans and Gods, Perseus and the sea serpent, Odysseus travelling the seas... Of course, everyone wants to play the hero, and no one ever wants to be the bad guy, so the games usually start - and sometimes even end - with the children fighting over who is going to play who - but still. It‘s fun.

Cor and Kieran play too, more often than not. The younger boy (younger just by a few months as he’s insistent on telling everyone) is always very adamant about playing the hero, though, Kieran doesn't mind playing the bad guy from time to time - it's more fun he thinks. And the heroes are often as bad as the villains so where's the difference in that?

_ (He would also never admit it, but some of the stories made him want to cry - especially those that end with the hero dying. Perhaps that is why his favourite story is the one of Eros and Psyche - a god and a mortal, a supposed monster, and a princess. And yet they got possibly the happiest ending of all the stories. Not that he would ever admit liking that one to anyone else - he is, after all, Kieran White, the best pickpocket, and the most ferocious fighter of the Greychapel, and he has a reputation to uphold. _

_ Still, it’s nice to believe something like that is possible. And it's his right as a child to believe.) _


	2. White

When Cor does not appear at the old beggar’s corner, Kieran knows something is wrong. The two boys - brothers as they claim to be in everything but blood - don’t spend every waking hour together, sometimes losing track of each other for a whole day or two - but Kieran knows Cor and therefore he knows the boy would never miss a story from the old beggar.

And yet, Cor is not there that evening, his usual spot empty for the taking.

It takes Kieran aback. He barely listens to the old beggar that night, his eyes always scanning around to see if Cor wasn’t just a bit late, didn’t forget himself somewhere. But no, Cor doesn’t appear, and he doesn't appear even long after the story is done, and the rest of the kids are gone. Kieran waits almost the entire night with the old man there, but to no avail and when even at the sunrise there's no sign of the other boy coming, he sets out to look for him, still trying to calm himself down with empty promises that Cor must be somewhere after all.

_(After all, Cor could not have just vanished without a trace.)_

And yet none of their friends had seen him for at least a day and he’s not in any of their secret hideouts either. Kieran knows because in the next few days he goes through all of them, even the old ones they don’t use anymore, checking each place at least three times, the old church, the docks, the rundown factory, the cave in the park... He searches their meeting spots, the favourite corners and streets, goes around asking whoever he could find - other orphans, beggars, passer-byes and store clerks-

_Have you seen a boy - about this tall, thin as a rake, dark hair and dark eyes, in a muddy shirt, and an old torn coat?_

At best, they just shake their heads at him.

At worst they throw things at him and call him names.

The days pile up, one, two, three… But still, Cor is nowhere to be found, just gone with the wind. And with each passing day and each passing hour, Kieran grows more desperate, as desperate as only a child could be - a child that is left alone, with no one to turn to, no one to help.

At one point he even finds himself standing at the steps of the police office, ready to report his friend as missing. He stands on the doorstep for almost five minutes, mustering up the courage, but the moment they open and an officer walks out, all that courage leaves him and he runs off. He feels bad afterwards, really - he's so angry and disgusted with himself he almost cries. However, once he calms down he tells himself, it was from the best he didn't go. It wasn't like the cops would even help him anyways. Why would they? To them, Kieran and Cor are just low street criminals, after all.

In fact, the cops would most probably be relieved to know they have one less petty thief to take care of.

Saves the rope.

_(Maybe, if he walked in the police station that day, things would have been different. He would have met a girl with red hair and pensive golden eyes and a blonde boy sitting in front of the captain’s office, waiting for the boy’s father and the girl’s uncle to finish with their meeting. And perhaps he would catch the girl’s attention and she would ask him what he’s doing there - playing a detective as always. And perhaps the blonde boy would offer to help._

_But he does not and so none of that happens._

_Sometimes, our fate is formed by the actions we decide not to take.)_

***

As it turns out, all those feelings of guilt and worries were for nothing as Kieran finds Cor on the very next day - or rather Cor finds him.

The younger boy sits on the end of the bridge at their usual meeting place, his feet dangling over the ridge. As soon as he sees Kieran he jumps up and runs to his friend, his face lit up like a thousand candles. Before Kieran could even ask, he starts gushing about some circus - a wonderful place for orphans that let him join and gave him food and shelter, and offered to take him in as an acrobat and is now looking for young talented kids - all the while waving his hands around like a windmill...

Kieran is so relieved he hardly listens, but when Cor asks if he wants to go, he agrees to go with him to see the circus.

_(Were he not as relieved, he might have reconsidered the offer and decide not to go. But he doesn’t._

_And he goes.)_

***

Cor doesn’t lead Kieran to the circus right away - no, first the boys head to the docks, to an abandoned warehouse, where a man is waiting for them. He’s tall, his skin made even paler by the dark cloak covering him from neck to his knees. He seems to know Cor as he greets the boy by the first name, and then he turns at Kieran, his pale blue eyes scrutinizing him up and down with an expression, that reminds the boy of the face of the old beggar accessing if the offering for the evening is worth his stories.

He leads Kieran to the warehouse and there he makes him do all sorts of stuff. Run around, climb on a rope, keep balance… All of that under the man's scrutinizing cold gaze.

It unnerves Kieran more than a bit, but he does his best not to show it and after a few long hours, the man raises his hand to stop him and nods.

"Good job, little one,” he says to Cor and then outstretches a hand to Kieran.

“And you too. You can call me lord Hades. Welcome to the Circus Royale.”

And with that, he leads them to the circus. 

The first thing Kieran realizes about the circus is that it is completely marvellous - everything so colourful, vibrant and loud, and alive with animals and people wearing bizzare constumes and bearing names of the heroes of the old beggar's tales runing all around. The boys are welcomed with shouting and wide smiles, perhaps too wide, but that might have been caused by the mask they are all wearing.

He's a large boisterous man whose voice carries like the sound of thunder above their heads as he welcomes the boys in and orders for them to be given new clothes, food, and a place to sta - a stuffy caravan they share with about six other kids, two kids per a bed. And also, a surname.

White.

Kieran and Corentin White in honour of the white snow that fell the day they came to the circus.

Kieran is not sure how he should feel about it. He knows he must have had a surname before, but he doesn’t recall. Still, he does not argue as he lets the pianist Clio show them around the circus and to the caravan they share with a few more kids.

A new name isn’t going to kill him after all.

***

And so the boys join the circus troupe. As Kieran soon learns, this particular circus is quite a young one – having started only a few years ago and still building its name. Most of the members are young too, and there are a lot of kid apprentices– by default all orphans just like Kieran and Cor, perhaps safe for Sonja, a blonde girl with violet eyes who is the ring mister’s illegitimate child. As such, the boys fit in with the rest of the children quickly and befirend a few of them. Especially Cor is well liked for the tales of the old beggar he kows and likes to retell in the evenings.

But not all is fun and games in the circus – actually, they rarely have times for any games. The routine they have set as apprentices of the circus is a rigid one – early morning call, then washing up, helping with breakfast, doing chores around the circus, and then training, hours and hours of training until your arms go numb and you feel the blood in your mouth, with only a few short breaks for food and more chores. There’s always something to do around the circus – feed animals, prepare food, clean and wash and repair and build and tear down...

The two boys join in with the acrobats, so they spend most of their times around ropes and trapeze, but they are taught other things too - how to properly throw knives, juggle... all of that seems like a dream to the kids, a true hero training - in only is wasn’t so relentless and the punishment for the failure merciless. Still the boys power through it all – even when the training leaves them all aching and breathless or it doesn’t make much sense whatsoever, like combat and sword fighting.

It confuses Kieran a great deal why _that_ is part of the training. At first, he thinks maybe the circus has a performance that features combat, but he never sees one during the shows. He dares to ask about it to the ringmaster at the beginning of his stay with the circus. The man just flashes him one of his perfect smiles at that.

 _"Don't worry, “_ he says, _“you are preparing for a performance. For the grandest performance of them all"._

And Kieran just nods and doesn’t ask more. Later on, he's surprised was daring enough to ask in the first place. It's not safe to bother the ringmaster with questions. Or to bother him at all. He might be smiling a lot, but he's no kind-hearted fool, and it's quite easy to anger him. And when you anger the ringmaster, you might get punished.

You might get punished for many things in the circus. Things like talking back, not eating all your food or eating too much, going where you shouldn't have been going, talking to people from the outside if you’re not handling an attraction, but mostly, for failing during the training; not progressing fast enough, letting your foot slip, being just a bit slower than your peers... And of you go.

Those stupid punishments are what Kieran hates the most about the circus, although he’s not sure why.

Admittedly, they aren't nearly as bad as what he experienced back on the street. Yes, having to sleep in an empty locked cage without a blanket or being sent to bed without dinner might be harsh – but still, it's nothing in comparison to the long night he has had to spend crouched on someone's steps, all cold and hungry because the day before he found no food or shelter - and even the beating isn't so violent. Of course, it does hurt, Hades as the main executioner of the punishment makes sure it does. However, he's also careful not to break any bones or cause any permanent damage - something neither the older kids nor the shopkeepers or even cops cared for.

But maybe that's what sends the shiver down Kieran's spine - the systematic cold-blooded nature of the punishment, calculated as to not damage the goods, at least not physically.

Or perhaps it's the ringmaster’s voice hovering over the cries of the punished child; all those "you should have been more grateful" and "we do this for your good" that he spouts out during especially harsh punishment.

Perhaps it's the way the sharp sting of the stick on his back reminds Kieran how he might not be immortal at all.

And perhaps it's simply, how there’s no way they can run away from it, no side alley, no back door to the clock shop... 

Kieran thinks about more than once - to leave, to run off.

But then again... what would be the point? Where would he run off too?

The cold streets where he would have to steal and beg and just wait for the day the prophecies of the rope catch up with him?

To a factory, where he’ll be worked day and night, and not even doing interesting things like gymnastics, but boring and dangerous labour around the machines that could crush him if he’s not careful?

To one of those stuffy orphanages, where he would get beaten as often, and where he would be completely alone, without friends, without Cor?

No, the circus may be a tough place, but he still gets food and place to sleep here.

It could be worse.

And so, he stays.

_(He also stays because he sees what happens to the boy, who tries to run off and fails and mainly becasue he sees what happens to the sister of the child that does manage to run away for real._

_He can recall the scene even years later, the ringmaster's voice bellowing as the kids- all bloodied and yellow and purple- get carried away to god knows where - hopefully a street, but he doubts they were that lucky_

_“This is a reminder!” the man would shout,” This circus does so much for you! Gives you food and shelter and purpose! Because we can see the talent in you, the purpose! Don’t be ungrateful like these!”_

_Kieran hates those words, but he knows the man is righ._

_They have no fate outside of the circus._

_And, so he stays._

_And perhaps it's for the best. It's not like he could outrun the fate afterall.)_

***

But not all is that bad in the circus and even between beating and training and chores, there are still moments that Kieran finds nice - beautiful even. Those fleeting instances that remind him even in a bad world there can be good people.

He has a handful of such moments - a small but proud collection one might say - images which he keeps to his chest and, and then when he's locked up in the lonely cage for the night or aching under the blanket from another beating or harsh training, he would pick those moments and examine them, relishing in their warmth and brightness against the sun of his inner eye.

Later on, when he's given paper and some charcoal by the old Prometheus, he even draws them – as many as he can stuff on the limited amount of sheets he can get his hands on.

He draws Cor training a new routine on the trapezes or the tightrope, moving so naturally as if he was born to do this. (According to the ringmaster, the boys are still too inexperienced to perform with the main show, but after about two years in the circus they are allowed to do small quasi performances before the main show to entertain the waiting crowds – and honestly, Kieran never saw Cor shine as brightly as during their first performance, free and confident as he never was during their time on the street).

He also draws Cor as he tells stories to the other kids, waving with his hands animatedly. (That drawing makes the other boy very embarrassed though, as he finds the faces he’s pulling rather childish, and he asks Kieran to throw it away.)

He draws old Prometheus as the large intimidating giant takes the kids aside on a Sunday evening to teach them to read and write. (He's so patient with them, even with Zero, the slow-paced giant that always breaks at least four pencils each session.)

He draws the New Year’s Eve when the ringmaster went out for the night, and the circus musicians took out the instruments after dinner to play for the kids. (Cor tries to drag Kieran onto the floor several times that night, but in the end, it is only the pianist Clio who persuades him to put down the pencil and join the dance.)

When one late winter day the quiet Bella dyes her hair pink, he draws her too, her face blushing and her eyes cast down as her friend Sonja gushes about how cute the colour looks on her. (Those two are like sisters and sometimes remind Kieran of him and Cor.)

He draws the chicken and baby peacocks the ring master's wife brings on a spring day for the kids to play with. She even lets them name one for each. (Kieran recalls Bella named her Koko and almost cried when he was taken away.)

He draws the daughter of the farmer's widow who comes to sell goods to the circus every now and then, and he draws Hades, as he blushes and stutters through a conversation with the girl. (It’s an image equal parts entertaining and chilling to Kieran. After all who would give guessed a monster like _him_ would fall in love so easily?)

He even draws the ring master's many, many mistresses (he seems to have at least as many as the god whose name he took), who sometimes stop by and give the kids sweets and hugs and ask Kieran to draw them because oh he draws so well.

And he draws Clio.

Of course, he draws her, she’s possibly the most human and thus the most beautiful of the entire circus troupe. 

Clio is just a few years older than both boys, but already old enough to be a part of the official crew with a stage name and everything. Unlike the rest of the official circus members who are mostly loud and boisterous, she’s very quiet– never raises her voice not even when Kieran or some other kid break something or play on her piano without her permission. Not that she has too –they are plenty other circus members more than willing to shout and punish the kids – but still, Kieran appreciates it in a way.

She and Kieran strike a friendship of sorts – a serene one, surprisingly calm and void of arguing and jokes that Kieran is used to in all of other his relationships, but he supposes he likes it that way.

It’s nice to have someone to be quiet around.

Clio likes his drawings too and whenever she’s given the chance, she makes him show her what he has drawn during the day or (during the busy season) the week. And he gladly obliges to her requests, so proud of his work.

She gushes over all of his sketches: the drawings of her, and the other circus members, or plants and animals, but there is one drawing that brings her to tears. The sunrise Kieran drew one morning right before the roll call with a few pieces of crayons Prometheus had given him for helping out with the animals.

“It’s beautiful,“ she sighs, and Kieran can feel his chest expanding with pride.

“Well, you can keep it,“ he suggests nonchalantly, though, usually he prefers to keep the coloured sketches to himself – after all, he only rarely gets his hands on coloured crayons.

“Really?” she raises her eyes to meet his, the green in her eyes shifting with excitement.

Kieran shrugs.

“It’s not like it’s prettier than you.“

At that, she chuckles.

"Look at you, being such an artist and a silver-tongue on top of it. You'll be quite a heartbreaker once you grow up.”

He frowns at that comment slightly puffing up his chest.

"I'm already grown up, Clio.“

She looks at him and Opens her mouth to protest, but then the sadness that so frequently resides in her eyes comes back and she just sighs, petting his head.

"I suppose you are, my little prince. I suppose you are."

***

Cor often makes fun of Kieran for that – spending so much time with Clio and drawing her so much too. He calls him her little boy and even jokes about Kieran being in love with her - something that irritates Kieran to no end, no matter how hard he tries to pretend to ignore it as just another expression of Cor's jealousy. They even fight for it once or twice and it takes Clio's interference for them to start talking to each other afterwards.

However, when one autumn day both her and Prometheus vanish after a violent argument with the ringmaster, Cor doesn’t mock him for his futile attempt to run off to find the pianist and helps Kieran at least bandage his wounds after the beating the older acrobat got for it.

But something switches in their relationship after that. The boys are still friends, joking around and training together, but when the silence descends upon the two of them it is not a comfortable one and sometimes Kieran just catches Cor looking at him with a pity in his eyes as he wanted to say sorry. But what for though, Kieran isn’t sure.

Clio’s disappearance?

Him getting beaten so badly as never before?

The nightmares he started having after Clio had vanished?

Of perhaps, them joining the circus in general?

But he never asks and Cor never says anything.

_(Perhaps it’s for the best he doesn’t know._

_This way he can still onto the belief everything‘s fine.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, peacock live up to 20 years, so it's completely plausible for Bella to know Koko when she was about ten.  
> Also name meanings:  
> Because I had to give civil names to character from the comic, which we know only by stage names, I tried to put soe meaning there hwich hints on who they are in the canon.  
> So...  
> Sonja means wisdom.  
> Corentin means storm/tempest.  
> Clio was a muse from Greek mythology ans according to some myths also mother of Hyakinthos (no, I'm not subtle at all).


	3. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as many greek references in this chapter, sorry, but a lot of Kieran/Dylan fluff bcs someone has to feed this rare pair and also bcs it's st Nicholas Day in my neck of the woods which means sugary content.  
> Enjoy! (or not)

It was perhaps a sign that Kieran meets _him_ on a morning that's just like the one he drew for Clio, the sky dyed in soft pink that is soon to be replaced with the baby blue of the cloudless day.

The circus is currently staying at the southern coast, in an old, abandoned monastery. It’s a beautiful place void of humans but full of life; bushes, small trees and wild animals Kieran gets to sketch in his free time. (After Clio disappeared, he rarely ever draws humans - it became hard, almost impossible at times.) 

When the sound of engines comes from down the road, interrupting the morning solace, he’s already awake, trying to draw in the early morning sun to hush away the nightmares, and so he’s the first to notice as three large black vans stroll up into the front yard, slow and dirty like some ugly old bugs.

He watches as the cars stop in the middle of the empty yard and several circus members including the ringmaster come up to them. The ringmaster approaches the drivers first, and then he turns to his men nodding for them to open the doors and unload whatever the vans have brought. Or whoever to be more precise. Because as soon as the door opens, children come stumbling out of the darkness, all skin and bones, dirty and confused.

One girl falls off the back of the van on all four and starts vomiting. One of the men shouts and reaches to strike her. Every muscle in Kieran's body tenses, but the next moment a boy jumps out of the back of the car behind her, and helps her up and out of the way, whispering something calming to her as he does so.

Kieran lets out a small breath of relief, he didn’t even know he was holding, but then the other boy stops and looks up and their eyes meet. The morning sun catches on the boy's hair, which Kieran realizes with a start is white, snow-white despite the dirt and dust, lighting it up, and for a split second the time stops and the world is suddenly filled with warmth.

But then the time moves again, uncaring toward Kieran’s feelings - the boy is rushed by the guards away, and before Kieran could even think of what just happened, Hades comes into the room waking everyone up.

The circus kids are then rushed into the front yard where the newcomers are already lined up before the cars and laso get lined up like soldiers on the morning call. Kieran somehow manages to get to stand almost opposite to the white-haired boy from before and so he gets a good chance to look at him. From up close, he can see the newcomer's a bit shorter than him and just as scrawny as when Kieran first came to the circus, arms and legs covered in bruises. He looks about Kieran’s age too - maybe a year or two younger? It’s hard to tell.

He’s standing beside the sick girl from before too, the girl squeezing his hand as if looking for comfort. The white-haired boy turns to her and whispers something to her ear to calm her down, though Kieran cannot hear what as the ringmaster speaks up his voice booms over the gathering, thunderous as an upcoming storm. 

He says the children are survivors of the Allendale tragedy. Orphans, just like you. Victims of the corrupt world. He also says they are now part of the circus and that he’s happy to welcome them in as their recruits.

_(He doesn't say anything about the boxes of green vials the strange men that sometimes worked around the circus brought and then took away just the day before Allendale though; nor how Prometheus and Clio shouted at him and called him a killer and terrorist the morning after when the news came to the circus. He doesn't explain anything about why these kids are brought in only now - almost half a year after the Allendale - or where they have been kept until then either. Neither does he explain why they look like they walked through hell and back._

_Of course, he doesn't. And no one asks either. He's after all, the ringmaster.)_

As soon, as the ringmaster finishes his speech, the others are dismissed, sent back to their duties - all aside from Sonja who is to welcome the new kids. Cor huffs with relief and starts dragging Kieran away, but they make only a few steps, before Kieran hesitates and turns back - just in time to see as Sonja approaches the white-haired boy and the sickly girl, outstretching one hand to the boy.

"Hi," she says, and even though she has her back turn to the others, Kieran can almost see the blinding professional smile on her lips.

“I’m Sonja. And you?”

The white-haired boy hesitates for a moment, confused by the girl action, but then he accepts the hand.

"Nice… nice to meet you. I'm Dylan,” he says with a smile, and then he turns to the small girl by his side.

"You see, Diana? You don't have to be afraid. There are good people here."

His words sent shivers down Kieran’s spine, but Sonja nods and says.

“Well, Dylan, Diana. Welcome to the Circus Royale.“

***

After that, the circus routine resumes - just as easily as it did after Kieran and Cor joined. Just as easily as after Clio had Prometheus vanished. Or at least officially it resumes.

The new kids take on their roles around the circus and start to train with the rest of the troupe. They never talk about what happened in those months between Allendale and their arrival at the circus, but wherever they were, they were obviously being prepared for the circus life at least a bit, as they don’t even have to go through any trials and are immediately set to respective circus members as apprentices – acrobats, dancer, and flame-eaters, and a few of them even as musicians.

There’s a tension between the new kids and the old ones though. The circus kids can feel the new kids are different. They are shyer, more scared, more reserved, but mainly, they are not the same as the rest of the kids. 

Yes there are all orphans, but unlike the circus children, the new kids are not from Greychapel, nor from the streets. Practically all of them had a home before Allendale – parents, their own bed, sometimes they even went to school – and yes the bombing took all of that from them, ripping their worlds apart, but still, even that memory of the happy and comfortable past was more than most of the circus orphans ever had.

And although most of the older kids can hide their envy or even ignore it in favour of cooperation, there are quite a few that don’t seem to be willing to get on with the newcomers and even if they keep quiet in front of the adults, when they are among peers, they make no attempt to keep their opinion to themselves.

Especially, Cor is insufferable since they came, belittling them and complaining whenever he could to the point, it stopped being funny to Kieran and started being rather irritating.

“Really, why do we even need so many new members? “ the young acrobat would complain over the dinner, throwing dirty glances over to the table where Dylan sits with the little Diana. Kieran just silently rolls his eyes at the complaint, but Bella laughs.

“Oh, common!” she teases Cor, lazily leaning against Sonja’s shoulder.

“What are you afraid they will take your place, little bird?”

“No, I just don’t think the circus needs them,” Cor retorts and turns to Kieran. 

“Kier, back me up on this one!”

“Whatever,” Kieran shrugs, hardly hiding his irritation from being dragged into the conversation. 

“Bella’s right. Stop being a baby.”

A dark shadow crosses Cor’s face and the boy leans closer to Kieran.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Kier,” he notes, “That boy might be a decent medic, but you cannot tell me you’re not bothered when he touches Clio’s piano-”

“Well, Clio is gone!” Kieran flinches but immediately realizes his mistake, as Cor looks at him scared. Sonja realizes it too - she smiles slowly and turns to Cor, a strange spark igniting in her violet eyes.

“No need to fight, boys,” she notes.

“And you, Corentin?” she asks, mocking him with his full name. “ These kids are here on the orders of the ringmaster. Are you perhaps implying he made a mistake?”

At that Cor, has no reply so he just huffs and finishes his food in silence. And he stays silent for the rest of the evening.

Kieran feels a bit bad for him afterwards, really. He feels stupid for bursting out like that - but he cannot help it. And it hurt even more because Cor would usually never do this.

He knew how much Kieran hurt after Clio’s disappearance.

_Just when did he get so mean?_

He doesn't say anything about it, but, as they head to sleep later, Cor comes to Kieran, his head hung low.

“Sorry,” he says.

“I didn’t want to mention… her.”

Kieran just sighs. He can never stay mad at Cor for long.

“It’s fine,” he smiles and reaches out his hand to mess with Cor’s hair.

“But we should go to sleep now before Hades comes to yell at us again.”

***

That night, Kieran has a nightmare. He has those often - ever since Clio vanished. Confusing and malicious dreams filled with blood and flowers he doesn’t recognize and corpses which names he doesn’t know, red and black and violet, horror and death. He doesn’t know where those dreams come from, or what they mean. Once he tries to ask the fortune teller about them. She goes very pale afterwards and tells him they might be prophetic dreams and that he should be very warry of his fate now.

Kieran just laughs her off back then, even tells about to Cor. The other boy exclaims it to be utter nonsense and they both laugh and never talk about it again.

That of course doesn’t stop the nightmares.

And that night, the nightmare is particularly vile and unpleasant, and he wakes up with a start, barely stopping himself from crying out, his eyes wide, the sigh of man’s bleeding heart still in front of him.

“Kier?“ Cor next to him mumbles bringing him to the reality.

Kieran pauses as he turns to the other boy. The kids share beds by two and as of lately, Kieran couldn’t help but feel guilty towards Cor for having to share his with him.

“It‘s fine,“ he whispers back guiltily.

“Just sleep.“

To that, Cor mumbles and roll to the other side. Kieran sighs, but he doesn't drop back to the bed.

He knows he couldn’t fall asleep again even if he tried. And so he just lets his feet drop from the bed, and pulling out a blanket, his drawing tools and the smuggler lamp he was given by Prometheus oh so long ago, he sneaks outside into the chill air of the circus camp.

He does this quite often if the weather allows him too. Of, course, he has to be careful around the guards, but those usual watch over the borders of the camp and so with enough wit, he can manoeuvre without them spotting him.

This night, he mopes around just a bit before his steps lead a bit too his steps lead him to the caravan of the music band. He saw a pretty flower growing near and wants to sketch it before some kid would tear it and ruin it for good.

When he approaches the caravan, however, he notices a figure. 

At first, he freezes, mistaking it for a guard or even worse the ringmaster, but as he comes closer, he realizes the figure is too small to be either.

It’s Dylan. He’s crouching beside the caravan, his head facing away from Kieran as he fumbles with the very flower Kieran intended to draw that night.

Kieran hesitates. A part of him prompts him to go back, ignore Dylan and find some other palace to sketch, afterall, they might have talked a few times before, when Kieran came to him with an injury after the training, but they aren't really friends or anything like that...

Instead he steps closer.

“Dylan?” he speaks up as quietly as he can, and still Dylan jerks up, surprised by the sound of his voice.

From up close it's visible his nose is red and eyes puffy. Kieran curses under his breath.

Of course. The kid was crying. He obviously wouldn’t want anyone around right now. He is about to turn around, but the other boy stands up hastily, wiping away the tears.

“Sorry I… uh… sorry do you need something?”

Kieran pauses biting his lip.

“No, not really. I just… why are you out this late… oor early I mean,” he looks up to the east where the dark hue of the night slowly started succumbing to the pale blue of those moments right before the sunrise.

Dylan shrugs.

“I just needed some fresh air. Had a nightmare.”

He brings his knees closer to his chest and a half sigh escapes his lips.

“I have a lot of those lately.”

Kieran blinks with surprise, but then he sighs too and sits down beside Dylan.

“Was it really that bad?” he asks.

“I… actually tonight it wasn’t as bad,” Dylan smiles.

“At least my dad wasn’t there. And neither was Ren...”

He shakes his head at himself, but then he turns to Kieran.

“What are you doing here though? Also having bad dreams?”

Kieran hesitates again. 

"I... I just needed some fresh air too. and time to sketch," he says at last, and his eyes dart to the flower. Dylan notices his glance, and a smile tugs on his lips. 

“Pretty flower, isn't it? " he notes twirling it between his fingers.

“Daffodil. Also known as Poet's Narcissus. Quite surprising to see them bloom this late.”

“Oh,” Kieran nods with surprise.

“I didn’t know it was called that too. Funny I actually know a story about a guy named Narcissus. He was a jerk though.`` 

Dylan smirks. 

“Bigger jerk than Poseidon?” he asks, reminiscing about the old horse rider. 

Kieran tilts his head and squints his eyes. 

“Ughhh, debatable.”

Both boys chuckle at that but then Dylan looks up at Kieran almost shily and asks.

“Hey… can you tell me that story?”

Kieran's face melts into a smile.

“Sure, why not?” 

***

It’s only at sunrise the boys part their ways that night.

The next day they don’t mention it to each other at all, but the following night, when Kieran sneaks out of the caravan again to run from the blood and dead faces haunting his mind, he finds Dylan sitting in the same spot as before.

And so, it soon becomes a tradition and it's not only when they have a nightmare but almost every other night,they sneak out of their respective caravans in the early hours on not-yet-day-but-not-night-either and then hide away in some corner or one of the tents or shadow of a caravan together and just... talk. 

Sometimes they talk about stuff that happened during the day or tell each other stories and facts about flowers (the former being more of Kieran's domain and the later Dylan's). 

Sometimes they even talk about the nightmares, that brought them there. At first, it’s only Dylan who speaks of his, but after some time Kieran opens about his nightmares too. They also find out, their dreams are similar in a way - both filled with flowers and blood and fire and corpses. However, unlike Kieran, Dylan can identify the flower in his dreams as daisies and he knows the people in them too so he knows what names to scream as he wakes up clutching the sheets. And he laso isn't the one that kills those people.

All that talk doesn’t stop the bad dreams of course, but for some reason it makes Kieran less afraid of them.

_(Kieran even tells Dylan about the fortune teller, but the boy just shakes his head._

_“I don’t think it can be true,“ he says._

_“You can fight well, but you are hardly a killer.“)_

And sometimes…. Sometimes they don't talk at all, just rest calmly, Kieran drawing and Dylan sitting beside him, sometimes picking weeds and tying them into flower chains, sometimes tapping out a melody on his knee like on a piano. His hands never seem to stay still, Kieran notices, constantly engaged in a sort of dance, elegant, yet steady and much more sure than their owner in what they’re doing. 

It’s one of his saving graces in a way.

Cor is right in one aspect - aside from his skills as a pianist, Dylan doesn’t have much to offer the circus. He’s a complete klutz - somehow passing through the day to day tasks just fine, but too clumsy to balance on a rope or juggle or throw knives or to do anything else that could make him a good performer. Even during the combat training - mandatory for all the kids from the circus for reasons Kieran does not want to think of - he hardly keeps up with the rest, which renders him a source of mockery to the likes of kids like Zero or Cor, and could put him at the very bottom of the circus food chain - if it wasn’t for this other skillset.

The circus on its own does not have an official doctor or medic. Whatever injuries one might acquire during training or otherwise were treated by the ringmaster’s old grandmother - a wretched old woman with shaking hands, bad breath, and nasty drinking habit, never sparring a nice word for the kids that came to her sick or injured. Kids dislike her as much as they fear Hades and if they can, they will avoid asking her for help, preferring to suffer silently rather that to be insulted and belittled by the old witch.

That’s where Dylan comes in. At first, he’s just helping out the old woman on the ringmaster’s orders, but soon he basically takes over all of her duties himself, much to the relief of the kids old and new. Sure, he’s still not as experienced as the old healer, but, he’s good enough with steady hands and calm tone that never raises and - what is more important, he doesn’t drink, and he doesn’t snitch when they come to him with a cut caused by careless training or an upset stomach after they ate spoiled fruit stolen from the supply caravan.

He earns a nickname for this service too. The Good Doctor, that’s how they call him - a bit awkward compliment that comes out almost as an insult from the mouth of kids who have heard too little of the former, but plenty of the later. Dylan doesn’t seem to mind though, wearing the nickname with strange bittersweet pride, which is at times incomprehensible to Kieran. That is until Dylan tells him that is exactly what he wanted to be. 

“To be a doctor. To help people,” he says into the silence as they sit side by side in the shadow of the caravan like every other night.

“Save as many as I - we could. It was a promise Ren and I made.”

Kieran frowns a bit at the mention of that name, the pencil inhis hands going still mid-stroke.

Ren. A girl with fire in her hair and gold in her eyes, a frequent character from the stories of Dylan's past. More than once Kieran found himself getting annoyed with this odd girl, who took so much space of Dylan's heart, wishing the white-haired boy would talk about him like that too - with unabashed fondness, eyes lit up at the mention of his name, only so slightly but visibly.

He is so engrossed in his feeling of jealousy he almost misses Dylan’s next question, short and sincere.

“Did you have any dreams? Before coming here that is,” the white-haired boy asks the voice only barely above a whisper.

Kieran looks up at Dylan, the light from the smuggler's lamp shifing in the boy's silver eyes like the sunlight on the lake, and he hesitates. 

He doesn’t know the answer. Or rather he is too ashamed to think of it. What would he say? That he wanted to be a son of a god? A hero destined for great adventures? An immortal? Such childish dreams seem too embarrassing to his fifteen years old self and he's sure it would seem so to Dylan too.

But what else is there? Being an acrobat? Sure, it is fun, and being able to soar through air is exhilarating, but it’s not really his _dream_ to do this - not in the way it is Cor’s.

He sighs and glances down at the paper in his hand.

"Maybe… to draw?" he admits. " It's not something I wanted to do before I got here - I never got a chance to try it, but I like doing that so..."

"So an artist!" Dylan's face lit up with sincerity.

"I should have guessed - you're really good! I can imagine you being famous one day! They would put out your pictures in galleries and museums and-"

Kieran burst out laughing and has to shove his fist into his mouth to quiet himself down. He can't help himself - Dylan's enthusiasm is just too contagious.

“Hey, why are you laughing?“ Dylan protests.

“It’s not impossible, is it?“

“I guess not,“ Kieran shakes his head. But in all honesty, he never thought about it – what he could achieve outside of the circus.

He turns to Dylan, his face suddenly much calmer.

“Dylan, do you think you really would become a doctor if you... didn’t end up here?“

Dylan shrugs at that.

“Maybe. I mean, why not, right? It might have been tough to pay the entrance fee, but I’m pretty sure Ren’s parents would be willing to help out... Not that I will ever know.“

He sighs, putting down a small chain made from of long stems of grass he wove together as they were talking.

Kieran furrows his brows slightly. He knows how hard this topic is for Dylan. 

Still the wistfullness of Dylan's last words bring a question to his mind. 

“Have you… "he hesitates slightly." Dylan, have you ever thought of running away?“

“Huh?“ Dylan looks up, surprised.

“I mean... I did, but... even if I ran off, I’m pretty sure they would find me quickly. Or worse take it out on the others.“

He chuckles sadly.

“I guess I’m just too much of a coward to do anything.“

Kieran's frown deepens at that.

“No, I don’t... “ pursing his lips.

“I mean you aren’t wrong. Escaping the circus is not that easy.“

He shakes his head but then stands up abruptly brushing off the mud from his.

“Now common,“ he offers a hand to Dylan, “the sun is already rising and we’re both on breakfast duty today.”

***

The boys never discuss their nightly escapades during the day. However, that does not mean they don't acknowledge each other's existence. They start hanging out around each other a lot – much to Sonja and Bella’s entertainment and Cor’s constant eye-rolling. 

It’s… nice to hang out with Dylan, Kieran concedes. More than nice. The white-haired boy reminds him of Clio in many ways - he’s quiet and kind, soft and tends to gush over Kieran’s drawing more than anyone else.

But there is a difference between the two. Where Clio used to incite warm fuzzy feeling, a small comfort in Kieran's heart, there the thought of Dylan wakes up something wilder, stronger so much so, Kieran is almost afraid of it. He’s not sure how to name this feeling, so mostly he just ignores it, telling himself that it's just a friendship and that his eyes lingering on Dylan’s form are just so he can later put the image on paper, capture it in all the right angles, just as he does when he draws others.

(Because yes, he draws humans again and oh gods, he never realized how much he missed it.)

The one thing he’s struggling most to capture about Dylan though is his hands. Oh, those bloody hands. No matter how many times Kieran tries to draw Dylan, getting all of the features right, the hands are never good enough, always looking strangely lifeless and heavy on the paper in comparison to their real-life counterparts, which just never stop moving, never rest. Kieran can draw everything else - every other circus member old and new, he can even draw Dylan’s face, smiling and serious, calm and excited - but never those hands.

They’re his Achilles heel.

That and Ren’s eyes.

Yes, he does try to draw Ren a few times too, based on Dylan's description of her - partly to please the white-haired boy and partly to pin down the girl he couldn’t help but feel jealous of. However, whether it's because he's not good at drawing without visual reference, or Dylan's just so bad at describing people, Kieran never seems to draw her well enough for either of them to be satisfied with the result. After some time, he does manage to get most of it right, the nose, the mouth, overall shape of her face, even her eyebrows - but the eyes are never to Dylan’s satisfaction.

"I mean... they were more... I don’t know. Bright? Thoughtful?" Dylan tries to explain one time when Kieran asks what he's missing. They are just in the back of the preparation slash infirmary tent, Dylan preparing some first aid tools in case someone would get injured during the next performance that night, and Kieran - how else - drawing.

“You mean pensive?“ the boy tries and Dylan hesitates. 

"Yes? No. I... - it's hard to describe. You'd know if you saw them.“

Kieran rolls his eyes.

"You draw it then!" 

"We both know that's your forte," Dylan sighs and turns away to pack away the bandages, once again keeping his hand busy, always so busy it’s frustrating.

Kieran stares for a moment but then forces his eyes to tear off his figure. 

"Whatever," he laughs, turning back to the paper in his hands. 

For a while, they work in silence again the only sound being the muted noises of the circus from the outside, the scratching of a pencil against the paper and Dylan's soft humming as he prepares his tools, before Dylan speak up again. 

“Kieran?”

"Hmm?" Kieran, replies non comitally, not lifting his gaze. 

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Why… Why are you always drawing?"

"Huh?" 

Kieran looks up in confusion and Dylan visibly panics.

"No. I mean I _know_ you want to be an artist and stuff and I know it's a dumb question but I mean I wanted tobeadoctorbecause,sorrynevermindadumbquestion-" 

His words trail off as Kieran bursts out laughing. 

"No it's fine!" he replies as he calms down, and then he looks down on the sketch in his hands and smiles.

"Do you know that tinge of warmth... when you see those subtle moments in life that remind you humanity can be beautiful? I draw them so I can keep it... That sense of humanity I don't ever want to lose it."

He chuckles lightly shaking his head. 

"That's why I wanted to draw your hands for a while actually, though, believe me, they are hard to-"

He immediately stops himself but it's too late. The words are out already - simple yet weighing in the air, enough to quiet both boys for a while.

“My hands?" Dylan says at last, his gaze falling on his hands, suddenly as clumsy as their owner.

"I mean… I’m flattered? I guess. N-no I mean I _am_ flattered. But… my hands are not anything special."

"No, they are!" Kieran protests. "They are really... pretty."

_Pretty, graceful, full of mercy and humanity. I want to observe them, draw them, capture them, I want to... hold them._

And just like that, a dream crystalizes on Kieran's mind clear as the midday sky and so close Kieran can touch it. And so he does. 

He reaches out his hand and places it gently over Dylan's. The white-haired boy’s eyes widen, and he blushes at the gesture, but he doesn’t pull away, his gaze fixed on where their hands meet.

It’s only when the little Diana bursts into the tent with a bleeding hand, they pull away, Kieran’s face far redder than he would like to admit.

_(Maybe if Kieran looked around at that moment, he would notice another figure dressed in acrobat costume, glaring at him silently from the shadows, his fists curled up with rage. But he’s too much in shock, and so he doesn’t._

_And perhaps it’s for the best.)_

***

After that meeting something did change between the two boys. It’s hard to say what exactly triggered the change - I may have been because of Kieran’s unintended confession, or for that one simple brush of skin against the skin - neither of them has a clue. In fact, they may have not even noticed something changed - at least not consciously. After all, they are young and dumb and so they are twice as blind to their emotions as they have any right to be. Or perhaps they know and are just too afraid to name it, worried naming it would suffocate a bud that was yet to bloom.

Either way, something does change, and it sends them both off their orbit, the pace of their relationship picking up as they circle closer and closer to each other until... they collide.

It happens about three months after the “hand incident”.

It’s the middle of the summer and so the middle of the season, but for one reason or another, they're staying at the blasted monastery again. By some miracle, they both have time off their regular schedule that early evening, so they climb up at the old church tower and just sit with their legs dangling over the edge as they let the sunlight rain down on their skin and laugh at the world underneath.

They are not completely sober, that needs to be said. Not that either of them is old enough to drink - Dylan turning fifteen in just a few weeks - but still they are. Drunk, tipsy on the cheap booze nicked from one of the guards and high from the feeling of freedom brought upon the summer breeze. The booze is bad - it's a miracle they don't go blind from it, and the feeling of freedom fleeting like the warm wind that brought it, but none of that matters, because at that moment the sun is warm and the sky is clear and painfully blue, and world means nothing and the world is theirs for the taking, the moment is just theirs and no one else. They were never in possession of something as they are of those few fleeting seconds. 

And it doesn't matter that Kieran basically headbutts Dylan when he tries to kiss him first. 

And it doesn’t matter they manage barely a peck before Dylan loses balance and almost falls off the tower, and Kieran has to pull him back into the safety.

And it doesn’t matter that Dylan lands on top of him with enough power to knock the air out of both of their lungs.

There on the top of the tower, and top of the world and it’s a perfect golden evening and a perfect kiss, seen by no one but the two of them and the sun, the blue sky, and the suddenly cold wind. 

_(They may not realize it yet, but at the same moment, as they barely avoided falling from the tower, the real descent began. And the impact would by no means be a gentle one._

_But perhaps it’s better they do not realize it. Knowing once’s fate is more often a curse than not.)_


	4. Yellow

At first, they try to keep their relationship a secret, of course, they do. Although relationships between circus members aren’t unheard of, they aren’t sure if the one the two of them have is allowed at all. But again, they are young and dumb and now on top of it all, in love, which makes them the poorest actors the circus had ever seen.

To their surprise, however, no one seems to care much.

Sure, they do get a few mean comments from the other kids, but that ceases after first few days (and about two fights which Kieran wins without much of a problem) and even if they get a few glares and subtle warning to not get over their heads, none of the adults bothers to talk into their relationship. And why should they? The boys are still fulfilling their duties as per usual, and if either of them slacks off, or breaks the rules or other such nonsense they can just punish him.

And the boys are smart enough, to follow that unspoken agreement – less. But really, Kieran cannot help it if sometimes he has to show off just a bit on the trapeze or space out during a training session or chores thinking about a certain medic.

Of course, Dylan does not find that sort of thing amusing at all.

“You know, I swear sometimes you seem to be enjoying this,“ the good doctor would complain as he patches Kieran’s back after yet another stern beating.

Kieran just smiles back at him mockingly.

“Beating? No. Getting to bask in your presence as you fix me up? Absolutely,“ he mocks swaying his hand over his head dramatically.

“And we’re back to the flirting I see,” Dylan raises his brow at him purposefully pressing the bandage just a bit too tightly against the cut on the back, but then he steps back shaking his head.

“I mean it, Kieran,” he leans over.

“You need to be more careful. You are not invincible.”

His words are dripping with worry and Kieran's expression softens and he turns to fully face Dylan, taking the boy's hands into his.

“Don't worry, about me, sunshine," mumbled drawing careful circles into his palms,

“I heal quickly. In fact, I feel already much better!”

He jumps up on his feet, grinning like a madman.

“I feel good enough to wrestle you.”

“Me?” Dylan raises a brow at him.

“No way, my kind sir! If you wanna fight someone, go ask Bella or Cor.”

“Both of them are busy. Common, Dylan. Flower. Sunshine. Angel. God,” he begs leaning closer raising his head in a dramatic gesture.

Dylan swats his hand awaz with a soft laughter.

“A god?" he asks, on brow raised in inquiry. "That’s a new one.”

“Well, you are one for me,” Kieran replies sitting up again.

A god of two left feet, and music and healing and flowers!“

Dylan shakes his head and throws a dirty towel to the laundry basket by the side.

“And of reckless idiots who fly to close to the sun,” he retorts before turning back to Kieran, tilting his head.

“I didn’t know this is how you treat gods – challenging them to duels that they’re destined to lose.”

Kieran snickers.

“Who’s saying I’ll win?” he asks, but then quickly adds, ”No I mean it – you got quite good in the last few months. Last time during the practise you almost got me. If you put your mind to it, I bet you’ll be able to win this time.”

“Sure,” Dylan sighs.

“On the day you’ll finish that drawing.”

Kieran frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but Cor’s voice comes from the outside calling him to train and so he whirls to the opening to the tent, only at last second stopping.

“I’ll have it finished by the end of the week,” he glances confidently at Dylan raising one hand.

“Just you wait.”

And he runs out of the tent, followed by an entertained cry of- “I’ve been waiting for eight months thank you very much!”

***

It’s an inside joke between the two of them at this point – Kieran’s determination and inability to draw Dylan’s hands.

Each week or so, Kieran would proclaim to be almost finished – and every week he would fail to deliver. Of course, he always finds something to blame this failure on – one time it‘s bad paper or pencil, then it’s bad lighting, then he first has to finish some other drawing – and as of lately, he blames it on the extensive training that leaves him no time or energy to do much else.

Well, that one is at least legit, that one even Dylan has to admit, As Kieran’s seventeenth birthday is nearing so is his and Cor’s first performance as part of the main show – and so most of their time is dedicated to that.

That, on one hand, means fewer chores for the boys, but also less time for drawing, which is not something Kieran takes lightly.

“You know sometimes I wish I could just drop this blasted act,” Kieran would sigh as he stared into the dark cloth of the infirmary tent, his head in Dylan’s lap. They were meeting in the night again - the only time they could with their schedules as of recently.

“I mean it’s fun, but I don’t even have time to draw.”

Dylan would just smile and shake his head, his fingers tapping out a melody on Kieran’s shoulder.

Ta-ta-pa-ta-pa-ti-paa.

He does this quite often and although at first, Kieran did complain about not being a piano, now he finds it soothing.

For a moment, they lie there in silence, until Dylan withdraws his hands and speaks up with humour on his voice.

“You know, Diana is actually envious of you,” he says.

“She cannot wait to be able to walk the stage.”

Kieran smirks.

“Yeah, her and Cor. Or rather Zephyr as he now insists everyone should call him,“ he rolls his eyes in pretended annoyance and runs a hand over his face.

Dylan raises his eyebrows.

“You already got your stage names?“

“Yeah, just this evening. And it’s not official so... hush!“ he raises one hand to place it over Dylan’s mouth.

The other boy dodges him with a giggle, but then he tilts his head curiously.

“So what are you called then?“

“Me? Eurus. After Zephyr's brother. They are both wind gods so it’s fitting for two acrobats, right? Though,” he admits after a moment of hesitation, “... to be honest I’m not really that fond Eurus. He’s boring – with no legends attached to him or anything.”

“Oh,” Dylan raises a brow.

“Then if you could pick any other name… what would it be?”

Kieran ponders on the though and then says.

“Hyakinthos. That one has a myth tied to him. And he was handsome, so that would be fitting.”

Dylan furrowed his brows quizzically.

“Wait wasn’t that the guy that got killed by Zephyr?”

“Makes it even more fitting,“ Kieran shrugs ad then runs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“That kid is going to be the death of me one day!“

He lets out a short laugh, but then goes silent, and sits up, now leaning against a crate with supplies.

“He... he was Clio’s son too,“ he adds looking up at the cloth of the tent.

“Oh, I see,“ Dylan nods solemnly, the humour dropping from his face. It wasn’t so long ago that Kieran showed his the pictures of his lost friend – a first person he had shown them ever since she had disappeared. It was quite an emotional affair, though ironically Dylan cried more than Kieran.

Dylan tilts his head.

“Well, in that case, I think it’s a fitting name, “he says his voice soft, but then he pauses and adds, “Not to mention hyacinths are quite interesting flowers on their own.”

At that Kieran raises his brow and leans forward.

“Oh, really?” he asks mockingly.

Dylan nods.

“Yes, they have different meaning based on the colour, you know. Red and pink ones mean games or sports, blue and white sincerity, yellow jealousy and purple… oh sorry!”

He realizes himself and throws an apologetic glance at Kieran.

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

Kieran raises his brow at him

“Rant about flowers? Yes. But I told you a thousand times I don’t mind. It’s entertaining if anything.”

Dylan sighs. 

"I know it's just, Cor said-"

Kieran’s eyes narrow.

"Why are you fussing over him?” he asks, “ He’s not here now and even if he was – well, he does nothing but complain all the times anyways."

He flashes Dylan a brilliant smile.

“Now, what was it with the purple ones?“ 

_ ( Were those two not so enamoured in each other's presence they might have noticed two people watching them - a girl and a boy, she amused, he hurt. _

_ “They are happy, aren’t they?” she asks. _

_ "Im' quite envious to be honest. No matter how hard I try, Sonja, never takes a hint."  _

_ He scoffs. _

_ “Sure… Just for how long it will last." _

_ "What?” _

_ "Oh nothing. We should go. The ringmaster expects us."  _

_ But perhaps it was for the best they do not notice - after all, what could they change about it?) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kieran: Idk man, I like the name Hyakinthos.  
> The Fate: Say no more fam.


	5. Red

Another thing Kieran finds disappointing about the circus life as of late is how difficult is to get to any decent flowers – to draw or for any other purpose.

When the circus is on the road out in the countryside, it’s not as bad - there’s plenty of wildflowers growing beside the roads and over of the fields the circus is staying at and although not all of them could be considered the most astonishing flower, Kieran finds beauty in their light-hearted existence, raising their petal from day to day with no worry or darkness in their little world.

However, when the circus is staying in the city, there’s no such plant life to come around, safe from secluded spots in parks and such. Other than that, the city is just a jungle of metal and stone, only as warm and personal as the people treading its cobblestone streets.

That’s perhaps why, Kieran finds certain fondness towards the weeds that grow in the park or along the cracks of the pavement, especially as the colder weather rolls in, vanquishing all of the city greenery into the flower shops and greenhouses of private gardens.

One such flower is daisy – simple and inconspicuous, and yet persevering against all the odds, blooming into early winter at times. Kind of like Dylan, he things – all the way down to their white petals crowning their heads.

It’s early October and they are setting up a camp in a park of one larger town and just as they are finishing, Kieran notices a daisy growing by the foot of the tent. He picks it up almost absent-mindedly, and then after a moment of contemplation, taps Dylan’s shoulder and as the boy turns around, he sticks the flower behind his ear, grinning like an idiot.

“There’ you go – a beautiful white flower, for a beautiful white-haired boy,” he jokes, but Dylan only frowns in confusion, one hand raising to his hair from which he picks the flower, and then something melts in his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s… a daisy,” he notes.

“I didn’t even notice they are… growing around here.”

“Daisies grow practically everywhere,” Kieran shrugs.

“And I know you like them – you always pick them up in those small flower wreaths you make. I still remember what they mean.”

He closes his eyes straightening his back and pulling his legs together.

“Innocence, purity and true love.”

He opens one eye grinning at Dylan, and the boy chuckles slightly.

“Hey, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Dylan replies smiling.

“You just remind me of her a lot.“

Kieran pauses.

“Who?“ he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Ren. She liked daisies too. She could never remember the flower meanings though – always mixed them up.“

Kieran grins, feeling a small sense of victory over the perfect elusive _ Ren _ .

“Well, not all of us can be both smart and handsome.“

“Oh, she was smart enough!“ Dylan protests.

“I told you – she used to beat me in checkers all the time.“

“Oh, I would beat you within seconds,“ Kieran grins.

“But alas I have more important things do.“

“Like what?“ Dylan raises one eyebrow, the melancholy pushed aside for at least a moment.  


“Boasting?“

“Me?“ Kieran sways theatrically.

“Oh, please dear, I’m humbleness itself.“

“A narcissist, that’s what you are,“ Dylan laughs.

“I’m really surprised you haven’t fallen for your own reflection yet.“

Kieran smirks and he reaches out to Dylan, grabbing his hand.

“Oh, sunshine, how could I fall for someone else, if I have you?“ he jokes, pulling the other boy into a hug.

Dylan blushes profusely, but then a dark shadow crosses his face and he glances to the side a heavy sigh heaving onto his lips.

“Kieran...“

“Hmm?“

“Please be careful today.“

“Oh, common, sunshine!” Kieran retorts pinching Dylan’s cheek.

“I’m always careful!”

Dylan rolls his eyes at him swaying his hand away.

"That's not what I meant," he says, and Kieran wants to ask mockingly what  _ he means _ , but then restrains himself. Of course, he knows.

It's the eve of the Game after all.

Kieran bits his lower lip as his eyes shot upwards to the cloudy sky.

The Game. Another weird little tradition of the circus, just like naming the performing members by the name of the ancient Greek gods or teaching the children how to fight with swords and daggers - though this one is not nearly as old, only perhaps half a year or so.

The Game itself is pretty simple - every month, two children are picked at random to fight in front of everyone else in the circus arena. The fights are not to the death, obviously, just to the point, the loser admits defeat. However, they do use real weapons and as such the fight can get real... messy especially if there's any bad blood between the two fighters just as the last time. 

But the injury is not what scares Dylan this time and Kieran knows that too. No, what worries Dylan is the strange man that comes and watches every fight his face hidden behind the mask. And what scares him, even more, is what happens to the victors that fight to the man's liking. Or more precisely how they don't know what happens to them. The explanation for this is that, the circus has too many young members now and that they need to reduce their numbers, so they pick kids who are more suited for other things than circus life and move them somewhere, where they can live a more fulfilling life, but who would believe that?

Kieran lets out a sigh and shaking his head, walks over to Dylan and takes his hands into his.

"Don't worry. You won't be picked. And even if you were, you aren’t that great of a fighter. They won’t take you."

“You know I'm not afraid of myself."

Kieran's throat tightens and those words.

He wants to say something to calm Dylan. He wants to tell him it will be fine, that this is just another pointless tradition. But he can’t, because he knows- they both know, the circus is not a good place after all, and that there's hungry look underneath the mask of the man watching the fight, and they both seen how when Sonja and Bella refused to fight two months ago, they were taken away good knows where, and only Sonja returned with new name and eyes that shone with the same coldness as her father's...

So instead he just squeezes Dylan's hands tightly and look up at him with a soft smile. 

"It's not that likely I'll be picked either."

Dylan returns him but a shadow of a smile this time.

“But if you are...” he pleads, those large eyes of his clouded with worry, “promise me… promise me you’ll lose.”

Kieran sighs.

“I already promised you that. I do so every time, the game is set.”

“I know but-”

“Dylan. I will not back on my word. Not to you,” he smirks at the other boy raising his right hand to his limos for a chivalrous kiss.

“Afterall, a promise to god is a serious business.”

_ (And he might believe that... but fate does not care for promises, does it?) _

***

The evening comes and the children all gather in the arena, everyone nervous and jumpy, whispering among each other and throwing nervous glances over to the auditorium empty safe one person. Some of them are curious but many are afraid of leaving the circus– they're too accustomed to it, and who knows what will come next? Still, it’s not like they can argue.

All chatter stops, however, as the ringmaster comes in, dressed like for a show and stand in the middle of the arena.

"Alright, ladies and folks!" he exclaims, throwing his hands open, one hand holding a cane, the other a large black hat filled with small white pieces of paper.

"As per usual we'll pick two contestants to participate in today's game! Maestro!"

The drummer starts drumming out a fast-paced rhythm, and to the overly dramatic sound, the ringmaster reaches into the hat.

"Kieeeeraaaan Whiiite!"

Kieran’s breath hitches in his throat. He could feel Dylan looking at him, but he forces himself not to look back, closing his eyes and steadying his breath instead. 

_ Please at least, don’t let my opponent be Zephyr, _ he sends a silent prayer to whatever deity may be on duty that late evening.  _ We might not get long much now, but he’s still my friend and- _

"Dyyylaaaan Rooosenthaaal!"

The words struck Kieran like a whip and he flinches. He shots a glance at Dylan, the other boy as pale as himself.

He opens his mouth, to say something, anything, but he ringmaster’s voice thunders over both of them.

“Alright, boys! You have ten minutes to prepare! Go pick you weapons!”

***

"It will be alright," Kieran says, trying to maintain a calm tone as they sit in the back of the arena, supposedly preparing for the fight.

“Yes, yes,” Dylan nods pacing back and forth agitation so untypical for someone like him.

“I mean we can both give up and-”

Kieran's sigh interrupts him mid-sentence.

“No, Dylan. Just let me win. It will be safer."

"What? No!" Dylan stops abruptly.

"You can’t do that!"

“Dylan we have no other choice. They might kill us if we refuse-”

“And if either of us wins we won’t see each other ever again,” Dylan comes closer to Kieran and lift his hand to cradle Kieran’s face.

“You promised me you’ll lose...”

"I know!" Kieran sighs.

”But that was before you got in,“

He takes Dylan's hand into his brushing his thumb over the back of his palm.

"Look, I’m really sorry for breaking my promise so soon. But… This is about your safety and that is something I cannot risk.“

“Kieran-“

“No, don’t argue with me, Dylan!“ Kieran’s eyes shot up filled with urgency.

“We both know it has to be me. And I’m really sorry about that – but I... I promise that once I get out, I won't stop trying to find you. No matter where they'll take me I return for you. Or… Or even better I'll find Ren and - well you said her uncle is a police captain, he can help us find you. Yeah right, I’ll find Ren. That’s great. At least I can see how her eyes look and finally draw them. And draw your hands, of course, I promised to do that after all, I can’t leave you before I do that- " that this point he's practically blabbering, saying whatever comes to his mind, just to calm down both of them, but Dylan just shakes his head mutely before grasping Kieran's hands into his and bringing them up to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

"You know..." he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

"Your hands... they're pretty too. I don't want to lose them either."

And before Kieran can react, he picks one of the knives prepared for the fight and then walks out into the arena lit with a sick red light.

***

"Well, ladies and gentlemen!" the ringmaster roars over the arena as the boys take their places as if he had some other audience besides the masked bastard and the circus members. Kieran notices how most of them whisper to each other in excitement. strangely he doesn't see Zephyr anywhere.

"Let's begin!"

And so it starts.

At first, they just circle around each other, slowly, both reluctant to start the conflict.

Kieran is the first to make a move, taking a wide swing at Dylan purposefully slow so the boy could dodge. Dylan does exactly that, rolls to the side and then makes a move on his own, jabbing at Kieran. Kieran grabs him by the forearm and shoves back, but Dylan grabs him by the collar and pulls down. Kieran stumbles but managed to stay on his feet, twisting Dylan's arm behind his back. Dylan cries out but frees himself and quickly whirls around, swings to hit Kieran with his fist - And Kieran doesn't mean to do the next thing, he really doesn't, but the instinct kicks in. He grabs Dylan by the arm and slams him to the ground, face down. Blood sprays the sand of the arena.

"Dylan!" little Diana shrieks and lunges forward, but two men catch her and hold her back.

Kieran's eyes shot wide open, but he doesn't move.

He just looks down at Dylan, who climbs back up, one hand wiping away the blood from under his nose, as he glances to the masked man.

"I'm fine. Let's... continue."

He darts forward, this time faster and with more precision.

Kieran gets surprised at first and steps back, but still dodges the knife all the same and manages to make a swing of his own, this one narrowly missing Dylan's shoulder. The fight gets suddenly more vicious and ferocious - Dylan's attacks stronger and wilder, so much so Kieran has to go back into the defensive.  _ This isn't right, _ his mind protest as he struggles not to back too far.  _ It's too real, they agreed to fake it, but this is too real - _

Dylan launches another attack and they're blades clash, their faces only millimetres apart.

Their eyes lock for a brief moment, and Kieran could see the anger in Dylan's eyes. Anger and fear.

_ They don't know what happens to the victors. _

_ I don't want to lose you, Kieran. _

_ You idiot! _ Kieran wants to shout as they break away.

_ If they take you, you'll still lose me all the same! _

He dodges another clumsy but ferocious attack and slams his shoulder into Dylan, throwing him off balance.

_ They want fighters! They want people to join the Phantom Scythe! Why else would they do this?! They want fighters and you're not one so stop trying! _

Dylan gaps in surprise, but keeps his legs steady and returns the blow with a kick, which Kieran barely dodges.

Kieran can see his movements are becoming more desperate. Trying to win, trying so desperately to win as if that helped anything.

_ I don't want to lose you. _

For a brief moment, Kieran glances upwards. His eyes lock with the masked man. 

The man tilts his head and then looks away. 

And at that moment, Kieran slips. 

He genuinely slips in the hay and dirt and maybe blood, and Dylan uses the break through his defences. He hits Kieran in the chest with his fist. Kieran falls slightly to the side but grabs Dylan and turns him around, gets his head in a headlock. Dylan lets out a cry and kicks back, punches and wriggles. His hand wraps around Kieran's wrist with the dagger and he pulls in an attempt to free himself. The blade twists in Kieran’s hand and grazes his side. Kieran hisses. Loses his grip. Dylan jumps up, turns around to kick. but Kieran is back to his senses by now, he grabs Dylan's leg and pulls it. The other boy loses balance, Kieran seizes the chance. He launches on him, grabbing his hands and, the next moment it's over - Dylan pinned under him, Kieran's blade pressed against his throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to immobilize him for good.

Their eyes lock again. The anger and desperation vanish from Dylan's face, replaced with tears.

Kieran wants to cry too, but his eyes are dry.

The ring master's voice thunders from a distance, announcing the end of the fight.

Kieran stands up at the sound, reaches out his hand to Dylan.

_ I'm sorry, _ he wants to say.

_ I won, _ he tries to announce instead.

But the words don't come out of his mouth.

Blood does.

_ What? _

Kieran frowns as he feels warm liquid escaping his lips.

He reaches out one hand to his mouth, and then pulls away, frowning in disbelief at the red liquid covering the tips of his fingers.

When he looks up, he can see Dylan staring at him, his eyes wide and terrified.

"Kieran?" the other boy scrambles to his feet, the look in his face painfully familiar to Kieran, the look he reserves for patients with a severe injury that are above his skill set and his eyes immediately fall to the scratch on Kieran's side.

Kieran tries to smile.

_ Don't worry, _ he thinks.

_ That’s just a light scratch, I cannot be bleeding from that… _

He wants to say it too, but as he opens his mouth only more blood comes out.

The strength leaves his limbs and he falls on his knees.

The voices above him turn into a blur.

He looks up and sees Dylan's face, feels his hands reaching to hold him, manages to distinguish some words, injury, poison...

He tries to keep his eyes open, but everything is red.

_ It was just a scratch _ , his mind chants over and over and then,  _ no, don't take Dylan away, this isn't his fault, he didn't know... _

_ It's just a scratch... _

But a strange blackness forms in the back of his throat, first taking away his words, then his breath...

He manages to look over to the side, behind Dylan and the other circus members that rush to his aid, and his eyes lock with another pair, dark and calm.

_ (No one noticed when fingers, as light as a breeze, the same fingers that tampered with the names in the game, switched the ordinary blade for poisonous one.  _

_ Just as no one notices the owner of said set of fingers looking over at Kieran coldly. _

_ If I can’t have you... _

_ All the signs we decide to ignore, all the actions we chose not to take. _

_ Sometimes ignorance of one's own fate is a bliss. Sometimes a curse.) _


	6. Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dumps the other three chapters here*  
> Okay and now back to studying

Kieran dreams. He knows he must be because he is back in that eerie grim world of pain and blood, nameless corpses and unknown flowers.

_ The dagger was poisoned. _

_ The foolish child... He was trying to outsmart us... to get away... _

They surround him from all sides, corpses, corpses and flowers purple, and red, red and purple...

_ But why would he do that? _

_ I heard he's a problematic child from the Zeus… _

He wants to stop, he wants to really, but he knows he cannot.

_...wouldn't it just be easier to let him die then?... _

_...no, he's too good for that… If he was clever enough to smuggle in poison... _

He promised to return to someone, he promised he'll be safe. He promised he'll find a girl with red hair and pensive eyes. He promised to draw someone’s hands. He promised...

... _ you sure? _

_ Just do what the Leader tells you to. We need this boy. _

***

He wakes up with a jolt. It takes him a moment to realize where he is – not a stuffy caravan, but a room that is cold and damp and smells of blood, disinfectants and old sheets. There are no windows on the walls, and only one door, metal and rusty at the edges right to the opposite of his bed – the only furniture in the room.

He tries to stand from the bed, but finds himself too weak and almost falls down instead. 

_ How come he's so weak? He never felt like this... _

He closes his eyes and the last memories from before the dreams come flooding his mind.

Blood, knife, fight, Dylan...

_ It was just a scratch though... _

The door creaks open, and a nurse walks in. She lets him a drink and switches his bandages. The wound on his side turned awfully green.

_ Poison, _ Kieran thinks but cannot make out words yet.

Then the nurse leaves.

The same thing repeats in a few hours - this time, she also brings food. Only the crouching of Kieran's stomach reminds him of how hungry he is.

He eats everything, but this time doesn't forget to ask where he is and what he’s doing there.

The nurse doesn't reply.

She comes back the next day and another... for about a week.

In the end, she comes with two men - one in a white coat, the other wearing a mask.

"He should be good now," the doctor says after he examines the boy. 

The masked man nods.

The next day they take Kieran and move him into another room, somehow even darker and colder.

And then they beat him.

For disobedience and trying to outsmart the Leader they say.

And the same goes the day after that.

And the day after that too.

Then he’s forced to beat someone else until he feels like throwing up, and then he gets beaten up again.

And after each time the mute nurse treats his injuries and he’s thrown back into his cell, dark and damp to wait for another day.

Alone. No window, no contact with the outside. No human contact either. No one to gently fuss over the scratches and broken bones. No one to run his fingers over his hands. No soft voice lulling him to sleep talking about flowers and their meaning. No fingers gentle tapping out a piano melody on his shoulder.

And with no love and no light, the boy slowly wilts away like the sunlight at the end of the day.

Like a daisy plucked from the ground.

The boy dies.

The boy dies, and from his remains, a flower is born - one coated in red and purple, blood and wounds, as if to signify – well, the future. And everything said future brings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic could be summarized in three acts:  
> act I (chapters 1 & 2): Life sucks but hey! There's Cor! At least Kieran's not alone!  
> act 2 (chapters 3 & 4): Life still sucks but hey! There's Dylan! At least Kieran's not alone!  
> act3 (chapters 5 & 6): There's Dylan, but hey! There's Cor too, and now he turned into yandere Cor so life sucks again!
> 
> Also the ending is lame. Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> YOU LIVE IN A SOCIETY I LIVE IN DENIAL!
> 
> Okay, now for real now - this fic was heavily insipired by the conversation which happened in the old discord sometime after ep 51 dropped, and which included theories about the Hyacinth myth symbolism in the story and also about Dylan being Apollo and it was originally a one-shot, but I don’t have the confidence to post it all at once bcs it’s looong.  
> But, yes this fic was long in the making!  
>  ~~Then why doesn’t it reflect in the quality of writing, huh?~~  
>  ~~Shut up Brain, no one asked you.~~  
>  Excuse my brain, he's cranky because I asked for a divorce.
> 
> Anywhooo...  
> Thanks to everyone to sticking till the end, please, leave your offerings in form of kudos and comments bellow if you are inclined to do so (if Im not responding to your commetns, just ssume school has killed me).
> 
> Special and belated thanks to Monica Tailor, who actually upon learning I was writing this stuff sent me a link to a book on threatre and circus in the past. It§s so lovely when people do your research for you ;).
> 
> I do not own the greek myths, nor the characters - that honour belongs to Ephemerys and Sophism (meaning the characters, not the Greek myths).  
> The original material (aka the webtoon) can be found [ here ](https://www.webtoons.com/en/mystery/purple-hyacinth/list?title_no=1621&page=1)  
>   
> Scholars discussing said material (aka discord - I'm not even kidding, there are essays there are more professional than my schoolwork) can be found[ here ](https://discord.gg/Y7r2fDg)
> 
> Have a lovely day and may your dreams be free of horrors prophetizing your imminent tragic fate!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Color Is But Fractured Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676610) by [Monica_Tailor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monica_Tailor/pseuds/Monica_Tailor)




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